


How Fragile We Are (between the few good moments)

by twilightstargazer



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Mutual Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Season/Series 01, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-08 22:57:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8866735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilightstargazer/pseuds/twilightstargazer
Summary: “I was thinking about last night,” she ends up blurting out, and then wants to slap herself, because stupid, stupid girl.She can actually see Bellamy’s walls go up, and she wants to laugh and cry at the same time because he is so predictable. “What about last night?” he asks slowly, eyes narrowed and trained on her. A muscle works in his jaw and she swallows, mouth suddenly dry.“Well, I was thinking,” she continues, still trying for nonchalance and completely missing the mark, “That the two of us deserve some fun. Together.”“What,” he says, completely deadpan, and Clarke is ready to run for the hills.or, the one where bellarke has been lowkey bangin' since unity day





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elegantstupidity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elegantstupidity/gifts).



> A secret santa gift for Kate! I hope you like it, lovely :)

Unity Day on the Ark was always the same, textbook event each and every year.

There was the parade, the flags, the sermon, the retelling of the story of the thirteenth station, a cleverly concealed threat amidst the wish for peace and togetherness. The Chancellor would speak, a few chosen children would water the tree, the adults would toast, and that was that as far as things went.

(When Clarke got older she learnt about black market moonshine and bootleg parties tucked away in the underbelly of the Ark. She only got to experience it for a glimpse of a second one year before she was locked up and sent down to earth in a rusty hell bucket.)

Unity Day on earth was different.

It was almost… fun actually.

Monty brewed moonshine and it was shared by the gallon, some delinquents overturned crates and barrels to use as makeshift drums, and those parties she only caught a glimpse off up in space came alive in full swing down here on earth.

It was strange and new and exhilarating, and not just because she’s been throwing back moonshine like water all night.

“Easy Princess,” a voice says from behind her, a hand on her wrist holding her steady. “We don’t need you to upset that pretty little crown of yours, now do we?”

Bellamy Blake looks good in the firelight, his skin painted in an array of golds and bronzes, and the boyish grin actually makes him look his age, young and carefree. He’s beautiful in an otherworldly sort of way, sharp jaw and even sharper tongue, with midnight curls and the entire night sky on his face. It makes her fingers itch to draw.

He takes in her flushed cheeks and bright eyes, and lifts an eyebrow. “Someone is having a good time.”

She just smiles at him, wide and bright, and shock actually flitters across his face for a sliver of a second. “It’s unity day,” she shrugs, before taking him in, all stiff posture and rifle slung across his chest. “You look like you could use a drink.”

He ducks his head, and scuffs at the ground with the toe of his boot. “I’m on patrol. Someone needs to make sure no one dies.”

“Ah,” she says sagely, “So you’re being a buzzkill.”

His eyebrows climb up his forehead, “Did you really just call me a buzzkill?  _ You _ , of all people?”

She narrows her eyes at him. “Are you saying that I can’t be fun?”

He holds his hands up in surrender, a smile tugging at his lips as he says, “If the shoe fits.”

Her responding pout is almost adorable and it makes him laugh.

“I can be fun,” she sniffs in the prissiest princess voice possible. Then, without any warning whatsoever, she grabs his wrist, tugging him a step closer.

Bellamy pitches forward, not expecting her strength. “Woah Princess; what the hell are you doing?”

“Showing you how to have fun,” she says, clipped, and then proceeds to drag him to the nearest set up, a game of quarters, where they all give drunken cheers upon their appearance.

He manages to finagle his wrist out of her grip. “Clarke, stop.”

She whirls around, hair a tangle of gold around her shoulders as she places her hands on her hips, drawing herself up to her full height. “What?”

“I’m on guard duty.”

She makes a show of looking around them, at the thick forest coming at them from every side, the torchlit wall, the gate locked up tight. “Yeah, there’s a lot of things out here to guard us from right now, huh.”

He narrows his eyes at her. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. The grounders-”

“-Could attack at any minute,” she finishes smoothly, grabbing two more metal tins of moonshine off the table, “But they’re not attacking right now and our people are safe and happy.” She bumps her hip into him and holds out a tin. “Come on, live a little. Carpe diem, right?”

Bellamy hesitates, his resolve faltering, and Clarke jumps at the chance to break it down entirely. “Have some fun with me, Bellamy. You deserve it.”

His eyes fall shut as he breathes in deeply, and she grins, bright and wide, in victory when he takes the tin from her.

“Fine,” he says before throwing back the contents in one swift move. He hisses as it burns its way down, but Clarke was far too busy paying attention to bob of his throat to notice. “I give in Princess, but if we’re all taken hostages by grounders, I’m blaming you.”

“And I’ll take every ounce of it,” she says solemnly, even as mirth gleams in her eyes.

To be honest, when Clarke embarked on her mission to get Bellamy to put down the damn gun and let loose a little, she thought he would just throw back a few cups of moonshine with her and be on his merry way, hanging out with Miller or his sister or something.

Turns out though, that while they did share more than a few cups of moonshine together, Bellamy didn’t seem to want to leave her side.

(Or set down his gun either for that matter.)

He followed her around, chatting and making small talk with people that she did, relaxing as each minute passed. Even when she got roped in to another game of quarters her joined her which, Clarke quickly learnt, was not a very good idea.

It’s not like he was bad at it- quite the opposite in fact- but he was just so… distracting.

As the night wore on and they drank more moonshine, he smiled and laughed more as they got closer and closer. Her hands would graze across his shoulders, he would keep a broad palm on the small of her back, guiding her as they walked about, and now, after who knows how much time has passed, they’re both a little unsteady and far more handsy than needed.

“Come on Princess, you got this,” he whispers behind her, chin resting on her shoulder while he keeps his hands heavy on her hips. They’re playing against Jasper and Monty, both of whom are already three sheets to the wind, and they just need one more point to win. It’s an easy shot. She knows she’s got this, but it’s nice nonetheless to have that vote of confidence from him.

Jasper is trying to distract her with heckling, but frankly nothing can be more distracting than the way Bellamy is wrapped around her right now. The heat of his hands searing into her skin, even through the layer of clothing, the way she can feel him pressed against her back, all lean muscle and warmth, his breath, stirring the tendrils of hair at the side of her head, tickling her.

“Focus,” he says, and she feels his voice vibrate through her body and she wants to shiver.

“I’m trying to,” she murmurs, squinting at the cup with her lip caught between her teeth, “But you’re just so…”

She lets the rest of the sentence trail off, and with a flick of the wrist, she lets the washer fly, sailing through the air in a neat ark. Bellamy hums happily behind her when it finds its mark. 

“I’m so what?” he asks, hiding his grin in her shoulder as the two boys opposite them burst into noise. Neither one of them pay it any attention.

“Distracting,” she breathes, and feels the hands on her hips tighten for just a fraction of a second.

“Is that right?” he says, and she twists her body in such away so that there’s only a hair’s breadth of space separating her from his mouth, curled up in a shiteating grin. The hands press harder into her hips, and she feels the bite of the metal table behind her. “How so?”

She hooks her fingers around his belt loops and tubs him even closer, so that his hips slide into the cradle of hers. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“And you’re completely innocent in all of this, aren’t you,” he says, letting his eyes drop to her chest for a brief second and back up again. The second button is undone on her henley, exposing the generous curves of her cleavage, and Clarke bites back a smile.

“Fair’s fair,” she chirps, rolling on the balls of her feet and letting her lips graze over his chin dimple. It’s not nearly enough though, and she’s not sure if it’s the moonshine, or the fact that he looks so fucking good, or some heady combination of the two, but she wants to taste him, wants to devour him and be devoured in turn.

She feels the start that runs his body, and drops a wink at him. “And I’m just giving as good as I get.”

“Fuck,” he laughs, dropping his hands so that he can tug one through his unruly curls. It leaves her skin prickling in the cool night air. “You’re a goddamn menace, Griffin.”

“You started it,” she shoots back, neatly stepping away from him and the game. It’s cooler here, and much easier to concentrate when the heat and feel and smell of Bellamy isn’t clouding her senses.

His head falls back and he laughs. It’s a nice laugh, one that she doesn’t get to hear often, and it makes her feel warm inside. When he looks back at her, she can see his pupils blown wide, the flames licking at them, and it just gets her warmer, skin buzzing with the undercurrent of electricity.

He steps towards her, backing her up into a tree that’s hidden away in the shadows. “And now I’m finishing it,” he says, cupping her jaw.

The first kiss is always Clarke’s favourite, and she finds that it might set the tone for what’s to come. Bellamy doesn’t disappoint, kissing her hard and thorough, letting his tongue curl around hers while his thumb swipes across her cheekbone. He tastes sweet, masked with the soft burn of alcohol, and she sighs into it, opening her mouth up more for him to deepen it. His other hand sneaks beneath her shirt, laying heavy on the base of her back and sending frissons up her spine. She swipes her tongue across his lips while her hands tangle in his hair, and is rewarded with a throaty rumble that sets every nerve ending alight.

It comes to an end when he presses her a bit too hard into the tree and rough bark bites into her skin, causing her to pull away with a gasp. Bellamy moves a bit slower, nipping at her jaw while his hands slide down to her ass, giving it a good squeeze.

“Don’t you have a tent?” she asks, breathing heavily. She doesn’t miss the way his eyes dart down to her chest before focusing on her mouth.

“Yes,” he says, deliberately licking his lips and causing her legs to wobble. It’s a good look on him; mussed up hair, eyes blown wide and pretty lips red and swollen in the dim moonlight. “You prepositioning me, Princess?”

“Just having a little fun,” she shrugs, unabashedly running her hand down his muscled torso. “Figured it’d be a lot easier in your tent. And a hell of a lot more comfortable.”

“Fun, huh?” he says wicked grin pulling at his lips. He squeezes her ass again, pulling her hips flush with his and letting her feel the outline of his cock through the thin fabric of his cargo pants and her jeans. “Alright yeah. I can do fun.”

It’s easy to sneak back to his tent when it’s late and everyone is either drunk or far too preoccupied to notice them. It is harder however to keep their hands to themselves. Bellamy keeps stopping to bite at her collarbone, run his hands up and down her sides, tracing the curve of her breast with the featherlight touch of his fingers. Clarke doesn’t help, tangling her hands in his hair and tugging, letting the sweet sting of it ground him in such away that he grunts into her skin.

When they do finally get to his tent, the few buttons at the top of her henley are undone, exposing the faded grey of her bra, and his jacket has been pushed off, hanging from his left arm. They’re both sporting kiss bitten lips and flushes high on their cheekbones and then it’s a race to get the rest of their clothes off.

His fingers fumble with the snap on her pants, almost deliberately as though this was his way of asking permission. Clarke huffs against his lips and undoes it herself before grabbing his hand and guiding it to the junction of her thighs where she can grind down on it to relieve some of the pressure.

“You’re wet,” he says, sounding surprised, and she barely refrains from rolling her eyes at him.

“That tends to happen when I want someone to fuck me, yes,” she snarks, “Thought you’d already know this since you made it your mission to get your dick wet with everything that offered those few days.” Clarke refuses to blush at both the crassness of her words and the way his eyes rove over her, taking in every curve, every bump, every scar.

His eyes meet hers, impossibly dark, and a familiar smirk pulls at his lips. “You want me to fuck you, huh?” he asks, voice at least two octaves lower than usual, and she feels it tugging on something deep in belly.

Still, Clarke pastes what she hopes is a passable indifferent look on her face and says, “Oh please, at the rate you’re going I’m going to fall asleep before you can even think about getting the job done.”

He hitches an eyebrow, letting his fingers trail up the soft skin of her inner thighs before settling at her hipbones. “Don’t worry Princess, I’m definitely going to fuck you,” his thumbs slip under the fraying waistband of her underwear and pulls them down, slow as if unwrapping a present. “But first I wanna taste you.”

Bellamy leaves no room for argument, leaving her panties hooked around one ankle before leaning in and licking a fat stripe up her centre, sending her bowing off the bed as swears drip from her pretty lips.

He laughs against her before grazing her clit with his teeth, and she spasms so hard she almost kicks him in the face.

“Easy babe,” he croons, petting down her hip and holding her thighs open, “I got you.”

“Just trying to speed up the process,” she says, voice a little thready, but not enough to hide the bite behind her words.

“Patience is a virtue,”

“Hurry up, grandpa.”

“Mouthy,” he says and pinches the fleshy part of her hip, causing her to squeak. He sits back on his haunches, using his fingers to rub softly against her, doing nothing to abate the need building in her stomach.

“Bellamy,” she whines, trying to push up on her forearms to get a better look at him. His mouth and chin glisten in the moonlight and she feels another shudder run through her, muscles clenching when his fingers ghost across her entrance.

“Easy,” he says again, and she huffs, wondering if she can get away with kicking him again.

He pulls his hand away and pushes off and Clarke makes a noise of noise of displeasure.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” she asks, and her voice comes out more sullen than she intended. 

He tries to soothe her with a biting kiss, letting her taste herself on his tongue for just a quick moment before he’s pulling back, pulling her with him.

“Just trust me on this.”

“You’re the worst,” she declares with a roll of her eyes, and then strips off her shirt in one fluid motion, leaving her in nothing but the fraying, too small bra from the Ark.

Bellamy settles himself on the layer of furs that make up his bed, and beckons her closer. Unlike her, he’s still fully dressed, save for his boots which he just kicked off before lying down, and Clarke wishes to remedy that immediately.

Instead, when she close enough, Bellamy tugs her on top of him and she squeals, bracing her hands on his chest.

“Relax,” he says, hands finding their place back on her hips, “I got you.”

She doesn’t even oblige him with a response, just rolls her eyes once more.

However, once he starts arranging her to his liking- both knees on either side of his head, his hands holding her hips in place above his face- she shudders with want, feeling the flush work its way down her neck and chest.

He hitches an eyebrow and blows softly across her cunt, causing her to shiver.

“Still the worst?” he asks with the stupid grin back in place.

“Shut up,” she says, before decisively sitting atop his smirking mouth, tipping her head back and moaning at the feel of his stubble pressing into her ultra sensitive skin.

His grip on her is hard enough to bruise and it just sends a thrill through her as she rocks down on his mouth. He groans at the taste of her, at the sting of her hands tugging on his hair, and Bellamy flicks his tongue over her clit.

“I’m going to make you scream, Princess,” he says into the crease of her thigh, and she grinds down harder, keening when he returns to her cunt, all skilled tongue and murmured praises lost between her legs.

Clarke has been keyed up since they were playing quarters outside in what felt like ages ago, so it’s no surprise that she can feel her orgasm building rapidly, the sweet tightness of her skin and muscles as she bucks her hips against him, nose butting against her clit.

“Fuck Bellamy,” she pants, one hand climbing up her body to squeeze her own breast. He growls, and when she cracks open her eyes, his gaze is hot on her hand. Clarke repeats the motion, this time sneaking her fingers inside the cup of her bra to tweak her nipple, and she moans, feeling him groan against her in response, the vibrations of it causing her to spasm nicely.

“A goddamn menace,” he swears again, before fucking her hard with his tongue. She slides the bra strap down, folding the cup under and continues to play with her tits, for both of their pleasure.

Her thighs quiver with the effort of holding herself up so long and his tongue flits over her clit again, this time he taking it between his teeth and worrying it. Then, with two more swipes of his tongue, she’s gone, not exactly screaming, but crying out loudly as her hips buck helplessly against his face.

He sees her through it, bringing her down with little kitten licks until she pushes at his forehead with shaky hands.

“Fuck,” she sighs, slumping over and Bellamy laughs, helping to guide her off of him.

“That enough fun for you?” he asks, impertinent smirk still there, even as half his face is covered in her wetness. It sends another wave of heat through her and she feels her cunt give a feeble flutter around nothing.

“Oh please,” she scoffs, reaching back to undo her bra. It falls away and he immediately zeroes in on her tits. She smirks, squeezing them together for him, catching a nipple between her fingers.

When Clarke lets her hands drop, they go immediately to his shirt, tugging until he gets the message to take it off. She runs her hands appreciatively over his chest, the ridged muscles of his abs and the defined vee of his hipbones.

She pushes him down onto his back once more, before leaning in close, bypassing his mouth and grabbing his earlobe between her teeth, tugging, and feeling the way his cock twitches in his pants.

Her grin is absolutely devilish when she says, “I’m just getting started.”

 

* * *

 

 

In the morning Clarke wakes up at dawn in an unfamiliar tent and wonderful strain in her muscles. She has a less than wonderful headache, but the throbbing at the back of her head is thankfully minimal and she can ignore it for the most part.

What she can’t ignore though is the muscled arm around her waist or the light snores that stir her fine baby hair.

Bellamy Blake is beautiful, even in sleep, and Clarke finds herself weirdly jealous.

He’s still all hard lines and edges, toned muscle, chiselled jaw, a smattering of freckles across every inch of skin. But there’s a softness in his face that she’s never seen before as he holds her, deep in sleep, and Clarke gives herself a handful of minutes to observe it before sneaking out of bed to get dressed.

So.

That happened.

She’s not going to freak out, she’s  _ not _ .

Her clothes are mercifully in one place, and she only has to dig around for her bra. There’s nothing she can do about her sex mussed hair and thankfully, any and all hickeys are hidden beneath her shirt.

She doesn’t glance back at him as she ducks out of his tent, scurrying over to her own where she proceeds to give herself a rudimentary rub down with a washcloth before facing the world.

(And thank fuck for that, because the minute she steps out of her own tent, Finn is ambushing her about grounders and a peace meeting and she wants to sigh because  _ figures  _ she can’t get no more than a few hours off on this shithole of a planet.)

(She realises that now she has to tell Bellamy about it- ‘no guns’ yeah right- and after Finn leaves her be, she kicks a rusty bucket, sending it flying.)

(It makes her toes hurt and she hates the ground even more than before.)

It’s not hard to debrief him; all she has to do it keep her eyes trained at a point above his shoulder and keep her voice steady.

What is hard, is evading his questions because of course, he’s going to ask stupid fucking questions.

He catches her arm before she can slip back into camp. “You okay?” he asks, pitching his voice low, and she notes the concerned crease of his brow.

She jerks her arm out of his grasp. “Fine,” she says, voice clipped, “Sex is just sex, right?”

“You ran out pretty quickly this morning.”

“I had things to do. As you can see.”

“Right,” he says, and he doesn’t sound unconvinced. “Clarke, listen, if I somehow overstepped or whatever last night-”

“No!” she says, a bit too loudly if the heads that swivel to look at them are any indication. “No,” she says, lowering her voice, “You didn’t do anything wrong at all, everything was good, more than good actually, you really do seem to know-”

“Hey, Griffin, slow down, breathe,” he interrupts her, and it’s a good thing that he does because she has no idea where she was going with that line of thought at all.

She sucks in a large mouthful of air as Bellamy surveys her with a piercing look, and she tries not to fidget under his gaze.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

She wants to laugh because is she okay? No, probably not, and that freak out she was repressing before is really coming to head now because not only did she sleep with her co leader- in a number of ways and times last night- she’s just been ambushed by her ex who told her he set up a meeting with the people who’ve been trying to kill them since they got here which could very well end in her own death and it’s not even eight in the morning.

Clarke could really use a fucking drink right about now.

Or like, ten.

“I was thinking about last night,” she ends up blurting out, and then wants to slap herself, because stupid,  _ stupid  _ girl.

She can actually see Bellamy’s walls go up, and she wants to laugh and cry at the same time because he is so predictable. “What about last night?” he asks slowly, eyes narrowed and trained on her.

She observes him for a second, weighing both the pros and cons of the situation. Pros, she might get to experience a repeat- several wonderful, glorious repeats in fact- that can help her turn her mind off just for a moment. Cons, she might make things awkward between her and her co leader if things don’t go according to plan.

Her eyes flick back up to him where he’s watching her carefully.

“Like you said, it’s fun right?” she says, looking straight at him. The only outward indication of her nerves is the way she keeps his hands in her pockets, swaying back and forth on the balls of her feet. A muscle works in his jaw and she swallows, mouth suddenly dry.

“Well, I was thinking,” she continues, still trying for nonchalance and completely missing the mark, “That the two of us deserve some fun. Together.”

“What,” he says, completely deadpan, and Clarke is ready to run for the hills.

“Um,” she starts, trying to figure out the words to try and explain her point of view to him, but he beats her to the punch.

“You want me to, what? Fuck you at your beck and call?”

“It’s a mutually beneficial situation,” she snaps back, feeling her cheeks heat, “But fine, if you don’t want to-”

“Woah, I never said that,” he says calmly, still watching her with guarded eyes, and Clarke stills.

“Then what are you trying to say?”

“I’m trying to figure out the specifics,” he replies, “Don’t go signing blank cheques and all that.”

“Oh.” Her mouth is really uncomfortably dry and it takes her swallowing several times before she can say, “Well, um, kind of, I guess? I don’t know, a little bit of stress relief and some fun here and there? It sounded better in my head if I’m being honest.”

Bellamy stares at her for what feels like a small eternity, and then shrugs. “Alright fine. I’m game.”

“You- you are?” she splutters, trying to pick her jaw up off the ground. “Just like that?”

“You really talked it up for me,” he says, flatly, and she elbows him in the side. “Ow, rude much?”

“You’re being deliberately vague,” she huffs, and he just shrugs again, this time rolling his eyes.

“Would you like me to write you a full response paper on why I agree to fucking you on the regular?” he drawls, “Get me some paper from your grounder buddies and a pencil, and I’ll have it ready for you by noon.”

“God, you’re an asshole,” she says, and Bellamy just grins at her.

“Yeah, but you knew what you were getting into,” he says, before shouldering his pack and rifle, “Now come on, lover boy is waiting for you to start singing kumbaya while braiding the grounders’ hair. Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

 

Of course, things are always easier said than done.

The meeting goes to shit, and they all end up running for their lives after quite possibly making things worse between the grounders and themselves. And just when she thinks that she could catch a break, arms braced on her knees as a stitch seared in her side, the exodus ship carrying her mother crashes and- well, frankly, she can’t really remember much after that.

(She remembers a hand heavy and warm on her shoulder, someone helping her up and guiding her back to camp, tucking her into bed while her ears continue to ring and she stares unseeing into nothingness, but that’s all.)

(Objectively, she knows that it’s Bellamy who did all of these things for her, who also put together a scouting group to check out the wreckage the next morning while she was struggling to tie her laces with clumsy fingers, but for some reason, she can’t wrap her mind around it. Or anything really.)

He meets her at the gate, eyes softer than she’s ever seen them, including the time he let her sit on his face and have her way with him.

“You sure you’re up for this?” he asks, holding the gate open for her to walk out with the rest of the group.

Clarke just nods. “Yeah,” she says, voice scratchy from disuse, “I need to do this.”

“Okay,” he says, only to pass her some berries and jerky. At her questioning look he ducks his head and mumbles, “You missed dinner last night. If you’re really heading on a four mile trek with us, you need sustenance,” and then walks off before she can reply, asking Raven something about a black box.

(She can still see the colour that creeps up his neck, turning his ears a faint pink and she hides a grin, popping some of the overripe berries in her mouth.)

There are no survivors at the crash site, and any remains were charred beyond recognition. She quietly walks through the scene, feeling Bellamy’s eyes on her the whole time, until he calls for them to move out.

“Here,” he says, passing a canteen of water over to her as they slowly make their way back to the dropship, “Hydrate.”

“I don’t need you to baby me,” she says, a bit sullen and, frankly, a bit amused as well. “I’m- fine is too strong a word, but I’m okay.”

She still takes several generous sips from it though, and hands it back to him when she’s done.

“Right,” he says, “If you say so.” She can tell that there’s something more he wants to say, the words on the tip of his tongue, but he just can’t bring himself to do it. Clarke glances at him as he stews in silence, perhaps paying more attention to him than the terrain, and almost trips over a root, Bellamy catching her arm at the last minute.

“Thanks,” she tells him, smoothing out her jacket.

“No worries.”

His mouth is still set in that tense line and she finally caves, nudging him lightly. “Whatever you want to say, you can come out and say it. I won’t mind.”

He glances down at her, where she looks at him with wide, earnest eyes, and feels himself melting, colour flooding his cheeks.

“I was gonna suggest some, ah,  _ stress relief _ , later this evening,” he says, lips pursed as he scratches the back of his neck, and Clarke doesn’t stop in her tracks, but she does stumble.

“Oh.”

“It was stupid, I- I just thought it would help cheer you up and shit, but obviously you don’t have to-”

It’s funny to see him like this, Bellamy Blake, able to come up with the most inspirational of speeches at the drop of a hat, reduced to stammering nonsense in the face of a girl who, mind you, he’s had over, under, on her hands and knees, you name it.

Clarke can’t help but giggle, and it stops his sentence in its tracks.

He huffs, muttering something too low for her to hear under his breath, and goes to stalk off, before she catches him by the bicep.

“So long as no one breaks a bone or whatever, then sure, I’ll pop by your tent this evening after I leave medical.”

The worry lines on his face clears, only to be replaced by licentious smirk as he looms above her. “Good,” he says, voice dropping at least two octaves, “I’ll see you there.”

One of them should have knocked on wood, for as soon as they get back to camp, everything is a disaster.

Murphy’s back which, well, isn’t that much of a bad thing, but he’s been laced with some sort of virus and that is definitely a bad thing. Clarke has her hands full in medical until the virus takes her as well, leaving her burning up and delirious, bleeding from her eyes and nose.

And then, as if that wasn’t enough- because really, is it ever enough on this stupid planet?- the grounders are planning to attack at first light which.

Honestly, death by this stupid haemorrhagic fever might be the easiest way to go. That’s it, she’s ready. Someone just needs to fling her into the void or something because the ground is the fucking worst thing that has ever happened to her.

So that’s how she finds herself, tired and achy but thankfully no longer coughing up blood, and sitting next to Bellamy as she gets him to drink some water.

It’s scary seeing him like this, weakened and run down as his body tries to fight it, and yeah, maybe she’s hovering over him more than she is with the others, but she can’t help it. Bellamy is special to her, to the camp, and she certainly can’t do things here alone, without him.

(If Clarke was a less proud woman, she would say that she  _ cares  _ about him, but as it may be, she is a very proud woman and there’s nothing you can do to get her to admit that.)

“Fucking earth,” he gasps, leaning into her shoulder a little bit.

“Yeah,” she says, taking a swig from the same cup. “Fucking earth.”

The bomb to blow up the bridge actually works, much to her surprise, and Clarke finds herself smiling in relief at Bellamy as they both stare up at the cloud.

There’s still a lot to do, despite how much she might want to curl up in bed and sleep for at least a solid twelve hours. There are still people too sick to care for themselves and people getting sick too. Then she has the clean up the place while Bellamy starts regrouping people to help clean up the camp, and by the time she’s finally done with everything, it’s nearing midnight and her body is screaming at her in exhaustion.

She can’t go to bed though, not with all the germs and disease crawling over her skin. Not when she smells like stale sweat and blood and death.

So that’s how finds herself down at the river with Bellamy, both far too weak to be venturing out so far at such a late hour, but far too stubborn to just stay in camp and do nothing. Especially when they feel like death warmed over. Clarke wants nothing better than to rub the grit and blood and germs off her skin.

“Turn around,” she tells him when they reach the edge of the bank.

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” he drawls, even as he does what she asks. Clarke blushes at his words, remembering how long he spent playing with her breasts the other night, and the hickey that remains purple and proud on the underside of her right nipple as proof of him being there.

She doesn’t dally, stripping out of her shirt and pants quickly and giving them a hasty rinse out in the water. Clarke doesn’t have anything else to change into after, but damp, clean clothes definitely beats that which is blood crusted and sweat stained. 

She wrings them out as best as she could before spreading them over a rock. It’s not going to dry obviously, but she can still hope.

Bellamy does the same as her when she tells him it’s fine to turn around, leaving his clothes next to hers before diving in.

The water is nice. Not warm enough to be considered relaxing, but also not too frigid to send her fingers blue. Clarke cups some in her palms to dribble over her head, sighing as she can feel all the dirt being drawn away, and she hears Bellamy’s low laughter off to the side.

“What?” she asks, cracking an eye open to peer at him. He’s standing in the shallows still, the water only coming up to his hips, and she lets her eyes wander to the trail of dark hair that leads from his navel to under the water. She’s acutely aware that this is the first time they’ve been alone without the threat of responsibilities hanging over their heads since they came to that agreement the other day, and she wants to do nothing more than mouth her way across his chest, feeling his heat and weight surround her.

“Nothing,” he says, still chortling to himself, “You’re just acting as though this bath is the best thing to happen to you.”

“It is,” she shoots back, “There’s nothing better than a bath.”

“Oh, I can think of a  _ few  _ things.”

She can hear the suggestion in his voice and bites back a smile. Clarke doesn’t turn around, even when he wades in closer to her, too busy finger combing her hair.

She stops when he sidles up behind her, immediately ducking to kiss her shoulder.

“You mind?” she says dryly, barely even glancing at him, “I’m trying to wash my hair.”

“Sorry,” he says with an innocent grin, “I’ll try to keep out of your way.”

He lifts his mouth off her skin, but it’s quickly replaced by his hands, coming up to cup her breasts, playing with her nipples, and then, without warning, one of them slips down between her thighs, tracing through her folds.

Clarke inhales sharply, finally giving up the facade and leaning into him. “This is the opposite of keeping out of my way,” she comments mildly, and he snorts, resting his chin on her shoulder.

“Yeah, I can tell you’re real bothered,” he says, swiping a finger through her molten heat and feeling her moan. She widens her stance, making it easier for him, but also pinches his forearm for his cheek.

“Shut up,” she pants, hands coming up to cover his own on her chest, teasing and plucking at her tits until the flush trails all the way across her skin. He’s very solid and warm behind her, and Clarke can stay there all day.

“Bossy,” he tells her, and continues to mouth at her jaw, even as she keens when he slides one long finger in.

Clarke nestles against his chest, leaning her weight into him, trusting him to prop her up and sighs when he adds another finger, thumb circling her clit. The edges of her world blur with it, and there’s nothing else but Bellamy, and his hands, and her heartbeat thundering in her ears.

“Fuck babe, you’re so tight,” he says against her chin, and she just agrees with wordless garble, his actions already having sent her speechless. “So tight and sweet and hot around my fingers.”

Bellamy is a fan of talking so long as his mouth isn’t otherwise preoccupied, Clarke learnt after their first time together. She also learnt that she’s a fan off it, especially when he starts mumbling praises into her skin that makes her soar higher than she ever thought possible.

“You gonna come for me?” he asks, expertly twisting his fingers and crooking them in such a way that it gets a high pitched moan out of her. His thumb diligently rubs at her clit, hard and intense, and the little shock of pain is exactly what she needs to ground her here, to him.

“Come on Clarke,” he whispers worrying her earlobe for a second. “Come on baby, I wanna feel you come. Let go for me, yeah?” His fingers thrust in as deep as they can go, catching on that sweet spot inside of her, that once that causes her entire body to lock up and the walls of her cunt start to flutter around him.

He does it, once more, this time lingering a bit longer, and she comes with something akin to a sob, nails biting into his forearms.

“Good girl,” he says, rubbing his nose against her cheek, and smirking when she clenches down hard at that. “Such a good girl.” He keeps thrusting his fingers languidly in her as she rides out her orgasm, and before she can slump bonelessly against him, Bellamy catches hold of her shoulders and turns her around, finally getting around to kissing her.

He tastes a bit like blood, metallic and salty, but Clarke moans into it anyway, letting his tongue slowly caress hers as they move almost lazily together.

Her hands slip under the water, finding his cock hard and hot and ready, and it only takes a few tugs before he’s pulling away, swearing.

“You okay?” she asks, voice still a bit hoarse. She doesn’t stop her ministrations while she waits for him to answer her question. If anything, she speeds them up, let her thumb circle over his head before her hands slip back down to fondle his balls.

“Never better,” he says through gritted teeth. He still looks a bit pale, but doesn’t appear shaky or anything like that, so she nods, leaning back in to kiss him. The last thing she needs is for him to collapse on her, just when things were getting good.

Bellamy kisses back, harder and deeper than last time, and the hands squeezing the back of her thighs is the only warning she gets before he lifts her up in one quick move. Her hands fall off his cock as she squeaks in surprise, but it’s fine, for a second later, he’s sliding into her with one smooth thrust.

“ **God** ,” she groans, eyes fluttering shut as she feels him, long and thick, inside her. She hooks her ankles behind his back before rolling her hips against him. “That’s good. That’s so, so good.”

“You feel so good,” he grunts, hitching her a bit higher so it’s easier for him to duck his head and suck on her tits.

“Shut up and fuck me, Bellamy,” she says, rolling her hips again, “God, please, fuck me.”

“Bossy,” he huffs out again, and she digs her heels into his ass in response, trying to urge him on.

He doesn’t have much leverage to work with here, and has to resort to short, quick thrusts while Clarke grinds down on him, hard and heavy. She mewls with pleasure, raking her nails down across his back, and he grunts, biting down on her collarbone with blunt teeth. Their rhythm is pretty much shot, but she can’t find it in her to care, not when he fits so good in her, latent energy buzzing under her skin as she waits to shatter into a supernova.

When he thrusts in next, he grinds up into her, hitting that sweet spot, and Clarke goes rigid, swearing loudly.

“There,” she commands him, “There, right  _ there _ .  _ Fuck _ , do that again.”

And so he does, even though the clench of her cunt around his cock is doing nothing for his stamina. He repeats the motion again and again, until the pressure that has been building at the base of his spine becomes too much, and it explodes, his hips jerking helplessly as he comes, just when her walls begin to flutter.

He buries his head into the crook of her neck, breathing hard, and dropping his hand to rub circles, hard and fast, into her clit, bringing her over the edge with a drawn out moan that has her toes curling.

They stay like that, clinging to each other and breathing hard, until her pulse stops racing. 

“You good?” he asks as he lets her down, and Clarke replies by splashing water at his face.

“Very,” she says, grinning.

Bellamy splutters, swiping a hand across to get rid of the excess, and she stands off to the side, laughing bright and loud.

“Oh, it’s on,” he says, narrowing his eyes, just before he lunges at her.

(They maybe stay out a bit too late down at the river, but when Clarke crawls into bed, she’s calm and relaxed and actually smiling as she drifts off into a dreamless sleep.)

 

* * *

 

 

What may come to a complete surprise to absolutely no one, is that they don’t get to hook up that often.

Sure, they see each other all the time, but that’s usually discussing logistics, what they might have to do to improve their chances against the grounders. Sure, she gives him a messy blowjob behind a tree when he’s on guard duty one night, and yeah, he returns the favour by bracing her hands against the wall as he fucks her from behind in the Dropship, but that’s pretty much the extent of their downtime.

Other than that, they’re working, and planning, and trying to keep their people alive day by day. In all honesty, Clarke’s grateful to have Bellamy at her side, as he makes things bearable, if not easier.

(And, yeah, okay, the sex is a pretty great perk as well.)

It’s all fine and well, until she’s kidnapped and he’s hanged and, well, things aren’t so easy after that, not really.

Bellamy’s eyes were trained on her since the minute she burst back into camp, and if she didn’t know any better, it was almost like he had to physically restrain himself from running out to grab her, to check on her, and  _ fuck  _ if she didn’t want to do the same thing.

Instead, she tears her eyes away from him and faces the crowd, steeling herself for the panic that was about to come.

“The grounders are coming,” she says and a wave of silence falls around the entire camp as they all stare at her, but right now Clarke only has eyes for one person, “And we have to leave. Now.”

And that’s when the chaos starts.

It takes a while for them to bring back order, for them to pack up and leave before coming under attack and realising that it’s not an option. So they prep the camp for a war, landmines buried on one side, hand grenades stockpiled and it makes her feel sick, but this is what she has to do, this is how to keep their people safe.

( _ ‘This isn’t who we are,’ _ she wants to say as she watches them give children guns to defend themselves. She hears his voice in the back of her mind, telling her that this is who they need to be to survive, to live to see another day, and she quickly ducks into medical before anyone can see the tears brimming in her eyes.)

She finds Bellamy in his tent, late that night, meticulously cleaning his gun.

“You okay?” she asks softly, hands held tight in front of her. Her knuckles are bone white, trembling.

He snorts. “Why do I feel that that’s the most common question we ask each other?”

“Because it’s the one that needs to be asked the most,” she says, coming in to sit next to him on the furs. “Because down here…”

“Yeah,” he says, with a wry smile, “I get it.”

He puts down the dirty strip of cloth he’s been using, and twists in his seat so that he can view her better. Clarke’s eyes unconsciously strays to the ring of bruises around his neck, and her face crumples.

Bellamy, on his part after a moment of brief hesitation, lets his fingers search her scalp for a bump, and she hisses when he pokes too hard at the tender spot.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, withdrawing his hand. He breathes in deeply and stares at the stray parts of his rifle. “When you didn’t come back I…” The sentence trails off and he finds himself staring into nothingness. “I was worried. About you.”

There’s more too it, she knows from the way his tongue gently curls around the  _ ‘you’  _ and it prickles beneath her skin.

“You’re treading awfully close into the caring category,” she tells him softly, and he ducks his head. “Besides, I’m fine,” she says, pressing a kiss against his still clothed shoulder on a whim. He freezes, and she silently curses at herself for doing something so stupid. Even though they’ve kissed before, it’s never been like this, never to provide comfort. Clarke quickly searches for a subject change.

Her eyes fall on the bruises that cover his neck and she reaches out to touch them with a trembling hand.

“Besides, from what I heard you had a much more exciting day back here,” she says. She was aiming for a teasing tone, but her voice falls flat, coated more with concern than anything else. She slides in closer to him, to the point where she’s almost sitting on his lap.

“He tried to kill you,” she whispers into his neck, fingers still shaking as the trail across the purple and blue splotches.

“He tried to kill a lot of other people too,” he says, just as soft, brushing her hair away from her face so he could press a kiss to her cheekbone. “Some of which he actually succeeded with.”

Clarke makes a noise in the back of her throat. “That’s not what I meant,” she said, pulling back, leaving her hands looped around his shoulders. “You…”

“Careful Princess,” he warns in a voice that shakes on the end, almost a mockery of hers, but not quite, “I’m starting to think you might care.”

She glares at him with wet eyes. Oh how she wants to tell him, wants to yell it for the world to hear, ‘ _ I do care you idiot! You’re my friend, how am I not supposed to care? _ ’ but instead she bites back the words and peels off her shirt before leaning in and kissing him so hard he sees stars.

The words might get stuck under her tongue, but she can do this, use her body to worship his own and only pray that the message isn’t lost in translation.

(Something about the look in his eyes tell her that that’s a one less thing she has to worry about, and she kisses him again, never wanting to forget the feel of his lips on hers.)

The both disrobe slowly, interested in spending more time pressing lingering kisses to against the other’s mouth than anything else.

Eventually though, it all comes off, leaving her in absolutely nothing as she drapes herself atop him, rubbing her cunt against him to get him slick and ready before sliding down in one smooth move.

“Fuck,” he says on a breath, and she agrees with a swivel of her hips and whimper.

“We both almost died today,” she breathes against him, foreheads pressed together as she looks him in the eye, riding him slow. “And there’s a good chance we might die tomorrow.”

“Your dirty talk needs work,” he says, and then flips them over, pulling her leg up to his shoulder and splaying her open for him to drive in, keeping with the slow and steady pace she set. Sweat beads on their bodies and she watches as it rolls of his temple and lands on her own skin.

Her other leg remains crooked to the side, and uses it for leverage as she lifts her hips, trying to grind up against him. It must work, because Bellamy falters in his rhythm, and his next thrust is harder and deeper, causing her tits to jiggle with it. He’s more than happy to lave them with attention, swirling his tongue around one tight nipple before repeating the motion on it’s twin. Her hand remains tangled in his hair, watching the starbursts shine behind her eyelids.

He starts fucking her in earnest now and Clarke tips her head back, biting into his pillow to stifle her moans.

“None of that,” he says, ducking his head to kiss her, sweet and hard at the same time, tugging on her bottom lip. “I want to hear you.”

She moans again, this time straight into his mouth, and his hips snap harder against hers until he gets her to make that sound, the one where she gasps on sob and a high pitched keen together, sounding so good he wants to hear it on repeat.

“Bellamy,” she whimpers, eyes screwed shut and nails clawing down his back, “I need more.”

“More?” he says with a quirk of an eyebrow. “More what, Clarke? Tell me.”

“Harder,” she pants wetly in his ear, and he obliges lifting her leg higher, as he grinds into her on each thrust, letting her clit rub against his pubic bone, and she thrashes with it.

“Better?” he asks, cocky smirk in place as he nibbles down the side of her neck.

“ _ Fuck yes. _ ”

“What else do you need?”

“More hands,” she tells him, hiding her face in his neck. “Touch me. I want to feel you everywhere.”

His hand slides between their joined bodies, touching her in earnest, and his mouth goes back to suckling bruises into the creamy white skin of her breast. When he closes his teeth around a nipple, she bows off the bed, back arching in an almost impossible curve.

“Good?”

She’s at a complete lost for words, just nodding shaking against him and another moan flies past her lips when he thumbs across her clit after a particularly deep thrust.

Her hands find his face, gripping either one of his cheeks and he’s surprised to find her eyes open and staring up at him.

“More you,” she whispers, pulling him close, “Just you.”

Bellamy can’t not kiss her, not when she’s looking at him like that, and it’s messy and sloppy, but he doesn’t care.

She comes just like that, his mouth pressed against hers, his cock deep inside her, his name sounding sweet on her lips. Bellamy follows right after, just a half dozen more thrusts before he stiffens, groaning low as he spills himself inside of her.

Clarke holds him close, a hand petting up and down his spine as they just breathe, wishing time could freeze in that little moment.

He does have to roll off of her eventually, but he doesn’t expect her to follow him, squeezing herself into his side and pressing her face into his bicep.

“We really might die tomorrow,” she says softly, looking up at him from beneath her lashes.

“We might,” he agrees, reaching down and taking her hand, slowly, giving her ample time to pull away.

She doesn’t.

“We might die,” he continues, “Or we might live,” he squeezes their joined hands and she feels something in her chest flutter.

“If we live, I’m moving into your tent,” she says on a yawn, “You have a nicer bed.”

He barely even reacts to her admission, turning just enough so that he can drop a kiss to the side of her head. “Deal.”

They lie there, listening to the sound of their beating hearts and mingled breaths, the sound of of the wind rustling the leaves, the cicada symphony just outside the thin parachute walls of his tent. Moonlight drips in, painting everything in muted silver and Clarke thinks he looks good in it. Both soft and hard all at once, a kind of ethereal beauty to him.

It makes her mind wander carelessly, and she thinks about a future, a future where they can do this everyday, not just the sex, but  _ this _ . Him holding her close, the easy silence amongst them.

It’s probably wishful thinking, especially when there’s a war at their doorstep.

(She still wants it though. Wants this, wants  _ him _ .)

Bellamy is the first to pull away, swinging his legs off the bed and searching for his boots. She follows after a beat, and they both get dressed without saying a word.

He catches her wrist before she can walk out, pulling her into his chest and kissing her long and slow, tongue fluttering against hers in a way that sends warmth spilling throughout her body, from her head to her toes, blossoming in her chest, from her heart that’s starting to feel too big to fit.

“ _ When _ we live,” she starts, voice hoarse and cracking a bit on the end as they pull away, “I’m moving in tonight. I don’t care if all I’m bringing is the clothes on my back, I’m doing it. No take backs. Just you and me here, together.”

There’s an unidentifiable spark of emotion in his eyes, one that makes her breath catch, and Clarke slides her palm back into his, tangling their fingers together.

“That’s one hell of an incentive,” he jokes, and he leans down again to kiss her once more, noses bumping and lips sliding over each other.

It’s only so long they can delay the inevitable, and when they finally,  _ finally _ , slip out of his tent, the phantom touch of his fingers still lingering on her hands, Clarke steals herself, getting ready for the day ahead.

It’s going to be a tough fight, she notes, but, glancing back at Bellamy, who’s already got his rifle slung across his chest and barking out orders, she’s got something worth fighting for, and that could make all the difference in the world.


End file.
